


Put Them on Ice

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU?, Drunken!Barry, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OFC - Freeform, Pre-Slash, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's time to say goodbye, but I think goodbyes are sad and I'd much rather say hello. Hello to a new adventure."--Ernie Harwell</i><br/>Len, somehow, becomes Barry's go-to shoulder to cry on after a bad break up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Them on Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I'm, yet again, not 100% happy with this. But I'm happy enough with it to post it! Just some hurt/comfort with lots of drunken!barry.
> 
> Also it might be becoming apparent that I ascribe to the headcanon that Len actually has a pretty regular home he likes to stay in (hence why i feature it in way too many fics). 
> 
> Enjoy!

Len finds him sitting on a bench with a bottle of scientifically engineered vodka and the saddest look to ever grace Barry Allen’s face. Len is in his parka, nothing nefarious planned, just out for a late night stroll. Barry is clearly drunk and getting worse by the moment. The bottle he keeps taking swigs from has no label but the stench is strong enough that Len could guess where it came from and why. He approaches Barry without caution, far too curious to not check up on the speedster in this state.

Barry’s head lolls before he looks up to see Len. Barry glares but that’s it. He doesn’t even speak. Len arches a brow in hopes of coaxing something out of the kid to no avail. Barry just brings the bottle to his lips and takes another swig. He reeks of booze and his eyes are glazed. It’s almost amusing to see him like this, but something tells Len it’s not as funny as it seems.

It’s that thought that has Len pushing Barry to the side of the bench to free up space for Len to sit. He relaxes against the chilled bench, keeps his hands on his pockets, and crosses his legs. He waits, still, as Barry continues to drink and mumble unhappily. After at least a half hour has passed, Len starts to grow concerned at the sheer amount of alcohol Barry has consumed.

Len reaches to pluck the bottle from Barry’s hand and only gets another glare in return. Barry doesn’t even try to stop him and there’s not a trace of super speed in his movements. Len takes the bottle from Barry and retrieves the lid from where it’s sitting at their feet. Len caps it—he can’t help but make a face at the stench, too strong even for him—and sets it aside.

“So, Scarlet,” he drawls and lays an arm along the back of the bench. His fingertips reach Barry’s shoulder and he tries to make his touch comforting. “What’s got you—?”

Barry is leaning over the arm of the bench and barfing onto the grass before Len can finish.

)))

Barry wakes up with the worst headache he’s ever known. Immediately, that tells him something is wrong because he hasn’t had a serious headache since before becoming the Flash. The only times he’s felt as bad as he does now has been after serious, deadly fights. Barry gingerly presses the tips of his fingers to his temples and tries to will the headache away. “What happened…” He mutters with eyes still closed. He knows the room he’s in is well-lit and that it will only add to the pain.

“You got into a pretty heated match with some super strength vodka.” A voice tells him from the doorway.

Barry still doesn’t open his eyes despite the shock that startles his system. He figures there’s no need given he can easily identify the voice. “And I ended up here?” The night comes back to him in pieces as each throb of the headache seems less and less horrible. As the night flashes behind his eyelids, Barry is more and more surprised he didn’t end up at S.T.A.R. labs or on Cisco’s couch.

“I found you spilling your guts in the park.” Footsteps accompany Snart’s voice followed by the soft sound of a glass hitting an end table. There’s the rattle of a bottle. “I know it’s just generic, but maybe it’s better than nothing?” Snart’s voice is oddly apprehensive. Barry finally opens his eyes—just a little—to see the man holding a bottle of generic headache medicine.

“Can’t hurt,” Barry says even though he knows it won’t do a thing. He accepts the bottle from Snart and snatches the water off the bedside table. He downs four pills with three big gulps before setting both aside. “Thanks, I guess.”

Snart shrugs. “It seemed rude to leave you in a puddle of your own vomit out in public. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your precious image.” Len’s smirk is the usual broad, taunting expression… but something is off. “You should probably get going soon.”

Barry tries not to feel hurt by the words. The night is still coming back to him and the whole reason for the super-vodka and the vomiting hits him like a freight train.

Snart seems to catch the expression flit across Barry’s face anyway. “Your phone has been ringing nonstop for an hour; I think some people are worried.” Snart smiles and Barry can’t help but appreciate the tender curve of his lips.

Barry is out of the bed and back into his clothes—freshly washed courtesy of Leonard Snart, really?—in the blink of an eye. He unlocks his phone to see over twenty missed calls and near fifty unread texts. He groans and wonders how on earth he’s going to explain this.

“You could always tell them you slept off a nasty hangover in the park.” Snart suggests with a shrug.

“I’m really not supposed to have that vodka.” Barry feels childish saying so especially saying it to Snart, but it’s true. When Caitlin finds out the experimental alcohol is gone, Barry will have hell to pay. “I’ll just… I’ll tell them… something.” Barry sighs in defeat. He looks at Snart a final time. “Thanks, again, for. Y’know. Not leaving me to choke on my own barf.”

Snart’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

Barry nods in recognition, and then he’s gone.

)))

Two days later he’s back at Snart’s doorstep. His face is red and blotchy from crying and he knows he looks like shit—and he knows he probably shouldn’t be showing this side of himself to his enemy, but—well—Snart still has the super-vodka. Barry knocks again, more insistently. The only reason he doesn’t use his speed to sneak in and steal the drink is because he knows the safehouse is guarded with traps, and he just doesn’t have the energy to fight those off.

Finally the door opens and Snart doesn’t hide his surprise. “Scarlet?” His voice isn’t even the same, drawn-out tone. It’s a voice that’s thick with sleep and shock. Len is in soft pajama pants and a t-shirt and his parka and Barry suddenly realizes how cold he is. He’s stepping forward before he can help himself, and he’s only encouraged by Snart _not_ moving back.

Barry steps until he’s invading Snart’s personal space. Snart’s wide stance accommodates Barry easily and though they aren’t hugging or even really touching, they’re far closer than usual. Snart makes a noise in his throat of confusion.

Barry finally speaks up. “You still have the vodka?”

Snart laughs and leans back to get a better look at Barry. “I do, but I’m not sure you should have any, kid.” Snart is a little put off by how childish Barry looks in this light. Snart can see the tear streaks on Barry’s face and the way his nose is running. Barry truly does look like a kid, here and now, and Snart is alarmed by the chord it strikes in him.

A look flickers across Barry’s face, one that almost seems normal or as though Barry wants to pick a fight. The look passes quickly and is replaced with exhaustion.

“Kid, what happened to you?” Snart tries to keep the anger out of his tone but it’s tough. He’s used to protecting certain people, like Lisa or Mick. He’s especially used to badgering Lisa until she caved and told him who hurt her this time. This feels remarkably similar to those moments before.

Barry groans. “Am I really about to do this?” He asks, more to himself than to Snart.

“I don’t know, kid, are you?” Snart takes Barry by the arm and pulls him toward the kitchen. He had mostly been teasing about not giving Barry the vodka. Snart had tried a shot of it and it knocked him on his ass for an entire day. Snart has no plans of trying to drink it again and Barry looks as though he needs it.

Barry collapses into a chair in the kitchen and waits. Snart pulls the bottle from the top of the fridge and grabs a glass. Despite the protesting noise Barry makes, Snart pours the alcohol into a glass and sets it in front of Barry.

“I’m not gonna say you can’t have any,” he feels far too much like a dad if he thinks about that, “but I am going to control _how much_.” Snart likes to have control and he gets the feeling Barry needs to be controlled for at least a little while. Snart pours himself a glass of whiskey before taking a seat across from the speedster. “So. What happened?”

Barry downs the glass in one go and it hits him quickly. Unlike the little shot Caitlin had made before, this lingers and lifts the haze of sadness in his mind. It also loosens his tongue. “I got broken up with.” He says without inhibition. “Like, _bad_.” He pushes his empty glass toward Snart with a pitiful look. Snart rolls his eyes, but obliges with a refill. Barry drinks this one slower. “We—it was almost a year.” Barry stares at the vodka in his glass as though it holds all the answers.

Snart doesn’t say a word. Part of him feels like he should be preparing some sort of grand wisdom to bestow upon Barry at the end of this conversation; part of him also knows that he’s the last person to give out relationship advice.

Barry is sniffling as he talks. “I thought everything was going great! We were happy, and we had this amazing date the other night, and, I mean, I was gonna ask her to move in with me!” Barry’s voice kicks into anger briefly before dwindling back into a soft tone. “And then she sits me down and says _she’s just not feeling it anymore_ and _things aren’t the same_.” Barry clenches his grip on the glass as he sips. “It’s such bullshit, she didn’t even give me a good reason.”

Snart almost laughs because it takes him back, again, to consoling Lisa after this boyfriend or that. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing twenty years ago either.

“Just—just that she wasn’t in love with me.” Barry finishes his drink and slumps to the table. He hides his face in his arms. He cries silently; all of his thick sobs were used up earlier in the day, and now he can only manage hiccupping gasps. Snart refills Barry’s glass in the meantime because he can’t think of anything to say in response. Barry continues to cry.

Just as he had at the door, Barry knows this is dangerous and reckless and that Snart should never see this side of him. But, he still can’t care, especially not with alcohol in his system.

“Kid.” Snart’s voice cuts through his crying. Barry looks up and feels a little ashamed at the uncomfortable look tying up Snart’s expression. “I’m not good at this sort of thing. Never have been, probably won’t ever be.”

Barry flushes a deeper red and twiddles his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” he downs the third refill and then stands.

Snart tells himself it’s the way Barry sways as he stands that has him latching onto the kid. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Barry says again, “I shouldn’t have put you in this position, Snart.” Despite his words Barry lets himself be lead to the couch.

“Call me Len.”

Barry looks up from where Snart has sat him. “Len?”

“If I’m gonna be forced to listen to you cry about your problems, the least you could do is call me by my name.” Len scolds. He leaves the couch briefly to grab a blanket and a pillow. He hands them to Barry who takes the cue and wraps himself in the blanket and falls to his side on the couch, pillow under his head. Len takes a seat in the recliner beside the couch. “Wanna keep talking?”

Barry’s voice is small when he answers. “Is that okay?”

Len is lightly buzzed from his glasses of whiskey so he nods. “I’m listening.”

)))

Neither of them mean for it to become a _thing_. But it does. Even after Barry has finished off the bottle in a matter of few visits, the visits continue. On nights when there are no heists planned and no other crimes plaguing the city, Barry shows up at Len’s house and they sit on the couch until late into the night. Barry usually does most of the talking, and usually talks himself straight to sleep. Len has gotten comfortable tucking the kid to bed and going upstairs to sleep himself.

Occasionally, Len will pipe in with his own stories. Sometimes he’ll try to relate to Barry’s own tale, other times he feels like he needs to share a piece of him in return for all that Barry has shared. They’ve watched movies a few times, and once a week Len makes dinner for him and Barry.

It’s all very strange and made even more strange because Len doesn’t mind it.

)))

Len knows he’s in for an interesting night when Barry shows up right on time with a new bottle of super-strength vodka. Judging by the unfading flush to Barry’s cheeks and the way he can’t seem to stop talking, the kid has already been drinking a bit. It prompts Len to take the bottle from Barry immediately and bring it to the kitchen.

Barry just falls onto the couch and doesn’t even protest Len taking the alcohol from him. “Len, why—?” Barry hiccups and it dissolves into laughter. “Why’ve you been so nice to me?” Barry rolls from his stomach to his back and looks up at Len.

Len looks down at the speedster. “I don’t know, kid.” He kind of does, though. He lets it keep happening because for all the times he’s wanted to shut Barry up he’s also enjoyed the little moments of sharing. He’s loved getting glimpses into Barry’s life, his past, his inner workings. It’s not even from a nemesis standpoint, but from a friendly one. He’s also enjoyed the moments when Barry has fallen asleep against his shoulder, snoring and drooling a bit even.

Barry squints. “You’re lying.”

Len feels a blush hit his cheeks and wills it to fade. “Sure kid, you tell yourself that.”

Barry sits up and pats the cushion beside him. Len sinks into the seat easily. Their eyes are still locked onto one another, neither willing to break the gaze. Len wonders what’s running through Barry’s mind and wonders if it’s the same as his own thoughts.

Len thinks back to one particular night the week previous. Barry had come over after a long night as the Flash: that alone was surprising. It had seemed to be an unspoken rule that if their lives as heroes and villains took up too much time, they simply wouldn’t meet for the night. But Barry had shown up at his door thoroughly exhausted and refusing to talk. So Len had let him in and when Barry’s shoulders drooped at the sight of the couch, Len led him to the bedroom.

Barry hadn’t protested when Len gave him pajamas to wear, or when Len actually tucked him in and fluffed a pillow for the kid. Barry had started to argue when Len slipped toward the door to sleep on the couch, but was asleep before he could really put up a fight. Len had woken that morning to Barry cooking breakfast in his kitchen.

They hadn’t talked about it since and nothing similar had happened. Len kind of wanted a repeat performance.

“Len?” Barry’s voice is quiet as though he’s sharing a secret. There’s no one else here—Len had made sure Lisa and Mick stopped squatting here as often once his arrangement with Barry began—and certainly no need to whisper. But something about the secretive grin on Barry’s face and the softness of his voice is alluring to Len. “Are you thinking about me?” Barry is creeping closer, on his knees and with a hand gripping the back of the couch for balance.

Len’s throat goes dry. “Depends. Are you thinking about me?” He counters.

Barry’s smile shifts from secretive to goofy and blinding. “Maybe.” Barry shifts and sits practically in Len’s lap.

“I thought you were distraught over your break up.” Len says it mostly as a distraction; they’ve been keeping up with arrangement for three months and counting, and Barry has talked about his ex-girlfriend less and less.

Barry scoffs and Len tries not to be frightened by the way Barry’s eyes are clearing. The haze of alcohol is fading. Barry curls an arm around Len’s neck and his other hand rests on Len’s chest. Barry’s face tilts dangerously close to Len’s almost like a challenge.

“Kid, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I think I do, _Len_.” Barry settles and gets more comfortable. “You’ve been nothing but a major softie since you found me in the park.” Barry pokes Len’s chest in mock accusation. “I knew there’s good in you.” Barry smiles. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave. This whole thing will stop. I won’t come crying to you again.”

Len’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t want you to cry anymore.” He’s wishing he had drunk some whiskey earlier so he’d have an excuse for his honesty. But the way Barry is looking at him and the warmth of the kid against him is too much.

Barry seems only mildly surprised by the admission. He’s still all smiles and still pleasantly flushed. He kisses Len on his slightly parted lips and drinks in the gasp Len lets out in response. Len’s hands finally come to life and he gets with the program; he wraps his arms around Barry’s waist and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Barry laughs into the kiss and the vibrations send heat through Len’s body. When they pull back their lips are still close enough to touch and Len is enamored by the glee in Barry’s eyes. This is a lot more complicated than either of them really want to address, and Len is sure that will come back to bite them in the ass. Barry has a whole family of do-gooders who probably won’t be thrilled with this relationship; Len will have to introduce Lisa more officially and Lisa _loves_ to tease. He’ll have to tell Mick, too.

There is a lot more to wade through besides simply deciding to date, but when Barry kisses Len again, the older man figures they can figure that out another time.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Fall Out Boy's song 'Sophomore Slump of Comeback of the Year'.  
>  _"Take our tears and put them on ice, cuz I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light._


End file.
